


We're Not Broken Just Bent

by shakespearespaz



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s01e20 The Dark Tower, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, References to Torture, Scarification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespearespaz/pseuds/shakespearespaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel/Miles centric piece after the events of the finale. As the group keeps moving, they're forced to work through some things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We're Collecting Dust

She hated the way he looked at her. His face was either blank or a mix of too much confusion and anguish and pity.

It was the pity she couldn’t stand.

Like it wasn’t _really_ her fault; she was a child too messed up to know better. In each glance she saw the wheels turning, his brain trying to decipher it and figure out how to fix her, because _his_ Rachel could never be so heartless.

She wanted to shove him against tree and smack him and tell him once and for all that she was never just his. No more than the woman lying dead, alone and broken in an abandoned hallway was.

Rachel had made the decision on her own and she was ready to claim responsibility.

It burned through her in frustration, the fact that she somehow still required him for that. She needed him to yell in fury or hit her with resentment or lash out at her in any way but not his pity. That was useless.

She had Charlie’s blame alright.

Her daughter’s glares cut like ice, but she was too cowardly to face her yet. Rachel didn’t want sympathy, but still she felt like the remnants of her once great mind were held together by fine threads of glass about to shatter.

She could fight Miles but not Charlie. She couldn’t hurt her daughter any more, less the last stone in her foundation crumbled.

They moved westward and Rachel swore Miles was walking with his face turned perpetually backward.

“There’s nothing left, Miles,” she finally vented at him, the exasperation coming out of nowhere, “The future is in trudging ahead, not looking behind.”

His head snapped to her.

“That’s deep for an erratic time bomb.”

Rachel had hit the anger.

He sped forward past her and Charlie soon followed suit. She glanced at Aaron, who simply stared, befuddled as usual.

She swallowed the brutality and hurried to catch up.

They met trouble within the week. On the edge of the Wasteland there were plenty of wandering groups claiming no nation but their immediate family or clan. Each group brought with them their own sense of justice.

Rachel and Miles were away from camp together, silently and sternly picking through the meager vegetation for any form of substance when Miles heard a branch break.

They looked up into the faces and drawn bows of ten or so armor clad men and women.

Miles rose slowly, hands in the air, and Rachel followed.

“Drop the bag,” came one of the voices from the front. He was muscular and bearded, with a dark complexion.

Rachel dropped her backpack, the one carrying the few greens and berries they had found.

“We need to eat,” she protested as one of them gestured her away and scooped to pick it up.

“Rachel,” Miles quieted.  They still had nine arrows, give or take, pointed at them.

The one who had spoken before continued.

“Throw the sword over here.”

Miles took unsheathed his weapon, hesitated, and then flung it towards a patch of dry leaves and grass.

“We also need to eat,” the apparent leader countered, “But not from here. Before we prosecute you for anything, it’s only fair to explain.”

He lowered his bow, as did the two on either side of him—a lanky woman and a hefty teen. One approached each cautiously, and Rachel and Miles made brief eye contact. Rachel seemed unperturbed, more like she was hastily processing the scenario; but then again she’d had years to perfect the art of hiding her fear.

“We’re not too picky about most of these lands,” the leader went on as the two bound their prisoner’s hands, “not much here except some game and not many people to fight us for it. Hell, we get so few visitors we can afford to be hospitable to those who do pass through.” He pointed behind Rachel and Miles. “Past those trees, though, that’s where we bury our dead. Now, most of us cobbled together from many different backgrounds and faith, but if there’s one thing we can agree on, it’s that we don’t desecrate this ground.”

Miles shifted awkwardly to glance, to see if he could glimpse the supposed cemetery they’d somehow missed. Maybe he and Rachel had just ignored in their determination to ignore each other.

“Please, don’t kill us.”

Rachel’s plea surprised Miles, as did her fear that they’d kill them and he was briefly glad that all his journey west had involved was a helicopter.

“We didn’t know,” she argued again, “How could we have known?”

The man nodded.

“You’re right. Which is why in our community we have a two strike rule.”

“That’s smart, sir,” Miles finally spoke.

“Actually, it’s damned stupid. It’s kind is what it is—and this new world isn’t cut out for kindness. But we all transgress every now and then. There wouldn’t be anyone left if we used the worst for minor offenses.”

He paused and took in the strangers in front of him.

 “Besides, after their punishment for the first, not many really feel up to doing it again.”

Somewhere, Miles knew, someone was gulping for him.


	2. It's Been Written in the Scars on Our Hearts

Miles picked at the knot in the rope blindly. They must’ve had some former Eagle Scouts in their group, because he wasn’t making much progress.

Their cell was once made of concrete, but had been knocked down partially either by the elements or perhaps a battle. The holes were filled loosely with fabric, canvas and wood, not very secure, but he and Rachel were bound tightly by the hands to rings in the wall. It wasn’t a warm, watertight place, but not any damper or cooler than the ground they had been sleeping on.

She was across the cell from him and had managed to pull her knees close to her chest. Her head rested forward against them, out of sight and closed to him.

“Nora would’ve been out by now.”

Rachel didn’t know what had prompted her to say it, but the woman might have been tied to the opposite wall, so much her presence still hung in the bitter silence between them.

“I wish she were here for Charlie.”

She lifted her head. Nothing from Miles except his level stare that focused just beyond her.

“She knew she was dead, Miles.” The words were tight and small in her chest and hurt coming out. “She knew what she was getting into and we wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for her. It all would’ve been pointless if we had stopped there.”

Still no words from him. She wanted rage, tears, forgiveness, something.

“I know you hate me. Charlie already does.” Her brow tightened as she fought against tears. “It—I had to do it. I didn’t know Randall—I couldn’t know—”

Rachel took a deep breath, steadying herself and laying out the words in her head. She’d played this conversation over a million times and usually it ended with tears.

“She was brave and smart and kind and knew what had to be done. And she was a better person than I’ll ever be.”

Frustration tore through her and Rachel pulled her head back and up, slamming it brutally against the hard wall.

“Someone has to make those decisions. I-I have to make those decisions. You did once too…”

She thought the tears were coming, but she was just left breathing heavily, empty, cold and alone.

He shifted; she could tell he was inclined to move towards her, but the restraints stopped him.

“You’ve always been pragmatic, Rachel. Ten steps ahead,” he said with little regard, “But who taught you to be so cold?”

She didn’t speak but their eyes met in silent battle across the uneven concrete floor.

“You did.”

It wasn’t angry, or an accusation, just the truth in a meek voice floating between them.

“Rachel.”

“Miles.”

He licked his lips.

“Nora is gone,” he stated slowly, “Nothing can change that. But I’m not going to lose you as well.” She could see him swallow something back. “You-you’re going to make it up to me. By not leaving me or Charlie again.”

“Why on earth would you still want me in your life?” Her voice was light, not mad.

“You know why.”

It would’ve been romantic if it didn’t make her want to throttle him.

“Charlie doesn’t. She hates me.” She directed her anger and frustration at the fact at Miles.

“Yeah, well, maybe you deserve that,” he responded, irritated, “You had a lot of ground to cover with her when we first rescued you and you haven’t made it any easier. I’m trying to help by giving you a chance.”

She opened her mouth to challenge Miles on why he thought she couldn’t deal with Charlie on her own; the truth blocked the words in her throat.

He was closer to her daughter than she would ever be.

Her train of thought was interrupted by footsteps approaching.

On the walk back to the settlement, the leader had explained to them that their punishments were engineered in a way that helped the community maintain a legal system with minimal effort. “Scarring the flesh” was the exact, clinical phrase he’d used and Miles had felt Rachel tense up next to him. It was a common practice in many older civilizations, and although cruel to a pre-Blackout society, it made sense in fulfilling several goals modern incarceration had attempted to. It provided punishment, and a deterrent for future crimes, but also certain marks could alert the public to possibly dangerous individuals.  It also made repeat offenders easy to spot in a world without databases.

He and Bass had played around with the idea, but seeing how everyone was branded in basic training, they concluded that other methods were more effective.

The leader had described the mark for their offense nonchalantly and kindly, with a bit of excitement, like he was informing them of what was for dinner that night. He talked as they stumbled along of Latin acronyms and an alchemy book they had found and it being hogwash, but most people being enthusiastic about anything symbolic. He stopped to draw in the dirt a circle, then bisected it and added a tail perpendicular to the bisection. It was saved for crimes against the self and soul, he called it. In a few hours, he’d have them marked and on their way.

Miles supposed that the Blackout had changed them all.

He hadn’t managed to pry anything from Rachel’s lips once she sealed them, much less the details of her torture and she wasn’t stripping in front of him to share injuries any time soon. He had found her over Strausser’s dead body, though, and Strausser’s knives had always been eager for a canvas and Bass just the right amount of desperate to offer up Rachel.

Miles felt a sudden surge of protectiveness as a hand pulled back the curtain.


	3. And I Your Willing Victim

He knew how to distance himself from the sight of his blood.

Dissociating from the warm liquid trickling down his skin, he could deal with it, although his eyes watered in pain and he could see a blurry Rachel curled with her head on her knees again. They’d placed it on his chest, right beneath his pectorals, carefully carved with precision by a woman who he guessed was a surgeon before. 

She bandaged it after she had made sure it would scar, joking that if would defeat the purpose if it got infected and he died. Miles could only stare at her in disorientation and disbelief.

He didn’t want to watch Rachel, to see every anguished memory that flashed across her face, but he forced himself to.

She tried to be stoic, he could tell. When the woman smoothed her shirt up though, Miles caught a glimpse of the encircled M near her hip and it made him want to hurl. He knew she wasn’t going to make it as peaceably as he had.

At the first incision she panicked, her legs kicking at the woman. But she calmed herself with deep breaths, locking eyes with Miles across the room as an anchor. She made some whimpering sounds in her throat and thick tears of pain soon stained her cheeks. As the woman pulled back from her work, Rachel’s jaw unclenched and she gasped for breath and he could see that she had kept quiet by biting her lip until it bled.

The bandaging was easy and it took the last ounce of dignity Rachel had to not lash out at the woman gathering her supplies.

Miles was tempted to spit in their tormentor’s face when she invited them to dinner before leaving.

It was business as usual as the same leader from before untied them and walked them to the settlement gate, returning their weapons and waving them on their way. Miles’ fist curled and uncurled in self-control and Rachel wrapped her fingers in a tight grip around his wrist and hand, as much for her benefit as his.

“We need to find the others,” she spoke softly once out of earshot.

“What the hell—”

“We’re not dead, Miles.”

“Always look on the bright side of life? Unless you’re the leader of a psychotic clan that gets off on flaying people’s flesh,” he hissed under his breath.

“Miles, don’t,” she warned.

He shut up and they walked in silence, back to where they’d been captured and from there towards camp. It was the long route, but neither wanted to risk getting lost as darkness fell.

They startled Aaron as they came out of the trees.

“Where’s Charlie?” Rachel asked.

He nearly dropped the mug he was eating out of as he jerked his body around at the sound of her voice.

“I—uh—she’s relieving herself. What happened to you two? We searched where you’d been but didn’t find any signs of a struggle and I convinced Charlie to let us wait the night—”

“Glad to see you were concerned.” Miles walked past him to pick through the remnants of dinner by the fire. “You leave any for us?”

“There might be some—”

“Miles!”

Charlie was back in the warm halo of the fire, relief washing across her face as she saw her uncle. She darted over to him and went in for a hug. He recoiled.

“Hey, watch it!” He gestured to the bandage. “Some of the unfriendly locals got a bit too happy with their knives.”

“What happened?” she questioned with urgency.

Miles was quiet and just shook his head. Charlie’s eyes drifted to her mother, who still stood awkwardly beyond Aaron.

“We’re just glad we got back to you guys,” she explained softly, “And that you weren’t stupid enough to come after us.”

Her daughter’s brow knotted and she gave an unreadable half nod, turning back to Miles.

“Friendly reminder that I was the one that said we should wait here.” Aaron might’ve been raising his hand, so eager was he for some sort of inclusion.

“Yeah, I’m glad your cowardice got you something,” Miles flung at him.

“Miles—” He expected Charlie, but it was Rachel who called him out in a harsh tone.

“Sorry, I forgot—have to be nice to the IT guy. You know, just in case my computer breaks or something.”

Charlie narrowed her eyes.

“You’re being a jerk,” she announced before leaving his side to sit on the ground next to Aaron.

“Sorry,” he sighed, more genuine this time, “It’s been a long day.”

Rachel glanced at group around the fire, decided that tensions were too high and made a decision.

“I need to go check my bandage.” Aaron looked terrified for her, no doubt imagining a hundred horrific things that could have happened during their run in with the mysterious local mountain tribe that resulted in her needing medical care. Rachel continued. “Miles, you probably should too. But first eat something, please. I can tell you’re hungry because you’re crabby.”

“So you do know how to be a mother.”

They made eye contact and the steel in her tired eyes told him he had gone far beyond the line. Miles swallowed, shut up, and preoccupied himself with assembling a meal.

Rachel wandered just out of sight—she didn’t want to risk running into their friends again—and stripped off her shirt. It’d only been a couple of hours, but she and Miles had definitely been hiking for most of it. She was already dizzy and forced herself to take another large gulp out of her canteen.

She ran her fingers over the bandage, working at it to see how it was secured. Rachel figured it out mostly by sensation; even if she was at the right angle to see it the night was too dark anyway.

“Need some help?”

Rachel snapped her head around at the familiar voice.


	4. Right From the Start

Charlie retrieved some dried fruit and nuts from Aaron’s bag and chucked them. Miles caught them messily and made a face.

“We finished off the meat,” she told him, “Sorry.”

Miles nodded and stood to munch on the food.

“Miles, what happened?”

It was Aaron asking, and Miles cursed the man’s thick glasses and the dark, because he couldn’t make out his expression if he tried.

“Why do you care?”

“Is Rachel okay?”

“Has Rachel ever been okay?”

Charlie’s gaze darted between them—like she was watching a ping pong match, Miles thought, although the girl would have no idea what that was.

“She was once,” Aaron said definitively, “Before she left our community and met up with you and you apparently decided to dick around with her and whatever the hell you did it turned her into a vengeful, homicidal maniac.”

Miles saw Charlie’s eyes widen. Sometimes he forgot how little he’d told her of his past. She’d smartened up and quickly, but often failed to grasp that when Miles said he had done things he was ashamed of, he wasn’t talking about stealing candy from a drugstore when he was ten. He wasn’t going into that history now, though, not in front Aaron and especially not in front of Charlie.

He faced them.

“We were caught trespassing and a local group felt it their duty to punish us. They tied us up, marked us and sent us on our merry way.”

“Marked you?”

“Knives. Symbols. Physically, the wounds should heal fine and we’ve both been through worse.” He didn’t know why he added the last bit, as all it did was bring back unneeded memories of Rachel hacking up a lung when she caught the plague and Bass pressing his jacket against blood pouring out of Miles’ thigh.

Charlie and Aaron were silent, with only the crackling of the fire between them.

“Miles, answer the second question.” Charlie’s request was slow and quiet. “Is my mother okay?”

“She’s—”

The words lost themselves.

What _was_ Rachel?

She was brilliant, he knew that, and she was the woman who always moved something in him no one else could, but then he’d tortured her and her pale skin still remembered the ghosts of his and Bass’ and god only knows who else’ hands and if she didn’t have such a damn good poker face, he knew she’d be on the verge of crumbling before his eyes. She was alive, which the others could never know was occasionally the greatest miracle of all to him. And she was resilient, but he didn’t think that was really serving her well because it didn’t matter her resilience if she couldn’t function like a sane, marginally sympathetic human being. Even though it was unfair, his stomach twisted in frustration because Nora may have still been alive if it wasn’t for her—but she’d lost her husband, her son, and Miles wasn’t about to let Nora be the straw that pushed her to lose her daughter too…

“You’ll have to ask her yourself,” he concluded.

If he couldn’t save her from herself, maybe Charlie could.

\--

Rachel recognized the voice and tried frantically to place it, as she couldn’t make out the figure in the shadows yet.

The dark mass moved closer and Rachel stood defensively.

“Hello, Rachel.”

It was Grace, looking a lot better for the wear than Rachel ever had.  Rachel’s eyes flitted to her pack, which still held the gun Miles had pushed into her hands what seemed like years ago in some Rebel base.

Grace raised her hands to show that she didn’t have a weapon.

“I’ve been following you.”

“Why?”

Their last encounter had been between them and a towel and chloroform.

“Why did you turn it off again?”

Rachel swallowed.

“Grace, I’m sorry—”

“Why, Rachel?” she interrupted, irritated and ready to get to the point.

“Randall set off nukes. We—I thought maybe we could stop them if we turned it off again.”

Grace shook her head and anger knotted in her forehead.

“Do you know how nukes work, Rachel? They probably just fell out of the sky and destroyed something else.”

“We couldn’t reroute them. Or disarm them or anything. And at least this way there won’t be any more, even though the world will still have a long recovery.” Rachel moved her hand against her wound unconsciously and drew in a sharp hiss between her teeth. “Were you serious about the help?”

“You betrayed my trust for something you ended up undoing, Rachel.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement reflecting the hurt of an old friend.

“Please?” the woman crouched on the ground pleaded.

Grace closed her eyes briefly, inhaled, then opened them, dropped her backpack, and moved towards Rachel.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Just check it and make sure it’s not infected or that the bleeding’s gone down.”

Rachel watched her as she finished undoing the wrapping, her eyes dark and unreadable in the night.

“Good lord, Rachel, what happened? Is that a symbol?”

“You know me, always making friends,” Rachel joked.

Grace was concerned, Rachel could tell. She’d known Grace almost as long as she’d known her husband and Rachel always thought her the most sensible out of all of them. In their small research team Grace was the peacemaker, the pacifist, with a mind sharp enough to actually be able to live out her values. Hearing that Randall had captured her made Rachel’s blood boil, another thing to add to the list of reasons why Monroe and Randall had to be stopped.

“Here, I’ll clean it a little,” Grace offered.

All they had was water and neither were medically trained to do more than what seemed right and made the injury look clean.

“I really didn’t want to hurt you, Grace,” Rachel apologized softly into the silence that settled between them as she worked, “I wanted you on our side and honestly thought you would decide to join us.”

“You clearly had a back-up plan, though.”

“I always have a back-up plan, Grace.”

“Until the Blackout.”

“We tried—you tried—I nearly tore apart my marriage trying. Randall just wouldn’t give us the time.”

Grace sighed as she finished reapplying the bandage.

“I know.”

“I’m truly and deeply sorry.”

“I know,” Grace replied, shifting a little bit uncomfortably, “Me too.”

Rachel wished she had seen the glint before she felt the cold against her neck.

“I’m sorry, Rachel,” escaped her friend’s lips as she pressed the other hand into the bandage and watched Rachel squirm in pain. “I promise I have a plan and I also really don’t want to hurt you. But we don’t have time to discuss it now.” She exhaled steadily near Rachel’s ear and she could feel the hesitation in the knife wavering. “I need you to call for the other guy who’s not Aaron—Miles, I think. Loudly, so he’ll hear, but don’t sound panicked.”

“Grace, can we talk alone—”

Her grip tightened on her friend. The waver in the knife was gone.

“We’ve already done that. Now, call for him.”


	5. Your Head Is Running Wild Again

“Miles!”

Her shout was distant, muffled by the trees and the sound of the campfire.

“Shit.” Miles stood from his place on a dirty rock.

“Do you think she’s in trouble?” Aaron asked.

“Rachel? She’s a magnet to trouble.”

Aaron wondered if Miles lay awake at night practicing callous quips.

“Charlie, stay here,” Miles continued, “If I call for you, don’t come but get the hell out of dodge. If I call for Aaron, come but approach cautiously and be ready to fight. Aaron, stay here and fend off mosquitos to your heart’s content.”

He could’ve used Charlie as back-up, he knew that, and it felt disrespectful to treat her like a kid, but hell, she was, and Miles didn’t know if he could deal with any more Matheson family blood on his hands that day. Charlie nodded and he was thankful neither argued.

Miles barreled through the forest in the direction Rachel had gone. He’d been an idiot to let her wander off alone, but he’d been pissed and hungry and a hundred other things had crowded his mind besides her safety. He’d forfeited her well-being for a hundred other reasons before and everyone knew how that had ended—with him as a depressed drunk running from his best friend who killed his brother and nephew.

Maybe he hadn’t dragged her into the Militia mess, but he’d as good as chained her there, and a part of him felt responsible for dragging her kicking and screaming back to the light whether she liked it or not. What kept him awake at night was the possibility that maybe there was no light left.

He found the clearing she was in without difficulty—she hadn’t gone that far—and froze on the edge of it. A dark shadow had by Rachel the neck, a woman from the slight height. The silver metal in her hand make his stomach twist.

Miles put his hands up.

“Let’s not be rash here.”

“I need to do something and I need you and Rachel to help me do it,” the woman said, the words clear but hasty.

“I’m sorry, but do we know each other?” Miles asked.

“She was a colleague,” Rachel gasped and her voice seemed pained. “A friend. Grace. Helped with the Blackout.”

“Enough, Rachel.” Grace was getting restless. “You both are going to help me make it to Texas.”

Miles almost chuckled.

“Hate to break it to you, but you could’ve just asked. If you’re a friend of Rachel’s, we’d help you get there. Hell, we don’t know where we’re—”

“I’m not stupid,” Grace interrupted, legitimately offended, “I thought you might help. But once we’re there, you’ll have to do something I can’t.”

“Which is?”

“Kill someone.”

Miles dropped his head. He had suspected that the woman didn’t know what she was doing with the knife, but now he had confirmed it. He just wanted to make sure that she didn’t accidentally hurt Rachel. He took a cautious step forward.

“Listen, Grace, was it? This isn’t going to work out how you want, Grace, unless you intend to hold that knife to Rachel’s throat all the way to Texas. And you just told me that you wouldn’t kill anyone.”

“I didn’t say anyone, I said someone. What will happen is I’ll injure Rachel now.” Grace swallowed and Miles noted that that part of the plan made her nervous. “I know where she can get friendly medical help about a day and a half from here. You do what I say, I’ll show you where it is. Once we get there, I’m going to—well, I’d tell you that now but you’d just try to find a way out. But first things first, you feed me, take me in and follow me there, otherwise she dies.”

He watched her other hand grope blindly towards Rachel’s bandage. He cringed as Grace tore it off.

“Luckily someone’s made my job easier.” Her relief sounded real and some part of him empathized with this woman, who was so desperate for something that she ended up holding a knife to her friend’s throat.

“Miles, go back to Charlie and Aaron.” Rachel still tried to sound commanding even with the threat of her throat being slit.

“Yeah, no, Rachel.”

“Shut up!” Grace’s voice went up a jumpy octave.

“ _Let her go_.”

It was Charlie.

She had snuck up quietly through the damp undergrowth and circled around to the back of Grace. Her crossbow was drawn and an arrow pointed directly at her mother and the woman.

For once, Miles didn’t curse Charlie’s sheer stubbornness and inability to follow orders. Together, Grace was a manageable opponent. If only Charlie waited for her to release Rachel, though, he’d feel more confident.

“I said let her go _now._ ”

Charlie didn’t wait.

The arrow took Grace in the shoulder and her hand jerked from the impact. Rachel stumbled forward as Grace fell, and Miles raced to see if the knife had found its target anyway.

It had nicked her, a small trickle of scarlet pooling in her collarbone, but Rachel was more concerned with the open wound on her chest. He helped her sit upright, heart pounding near his ears and thanked everything that was holy that she wasn’t bleeding to death in the dirt.

Her eyes glanced over him, still trying to figure out what had happened, and finally settled on the figure a few paces away.

Rachel’s breath caught in her throat.

“Grace—”

He’d forgotten that her friend now had an arrow through her.


	6. Tell Me That You've Had Enough

Rachel was pressing her shirt against the wound, the blood as dark as the night and the guilt grasping at her. She resisted the urge to yank the arrow out, out of her friend who, barring the last half hour, she had never seen harm even a fly.

Charlie looked up at Miles, brow furrowed and wide eyes asking if she’d done the right thing. She’d saved her mother, hadn’t she?

“Help me, Charlie!”

Grace’s lip was bloody too, from where she’d been biting it to deal with the pain. Rachel reached around to support her head and keep the woman from slipping into unconsciousness.

“Grace—Grace. I need you to tell me where we can get medical help for you, okay? Where is the place you were going to take me?”

Grace finally seemed to be able to focus.

“Did someone shoot me, Rachel?”

“It’s just a scratch.”

Grace seemed to think that was funny.

“Where do we need to take you?” Rachel continued.

“I—uh—.” She beckoned for her to move closer, trying to sit up. Rachel stopped her and leaned in.

Miles and Charlie watched Grace’s lips move, but couldn’t hear a word she said.

Rachel pulled back and nodded.

“I got it. We’ll get you there, Grace, I swear.”

The weight of the situation finally seemed to hit Charlie and she was next to her mother quickly.

“Can I see the wound?” she asked.

Rachel looked at her daughter in silence, still in shock and trying to comprehend the young woman at her side.

“Mom?”

“Yes—sorry, of course you can.” She lifted up slowly from where she had been putting pressure. The arrow was still it and Charlie tried to assess the situation through the blood and her partial view.

“Do you know how to treat an arrow wound?” Rachel asked out of curiosity.

“Dad got hit in the leg on a hunting trip,” Charlie responded, more focused on Grace, “I watched Maggie fix it up.”

Before Rachel could speculate on the name Maggie, Miles was behind them.

“Watching isn’t the same as doing, kid.”

“Should we leave the arrow in?” Rachel wasn’t sure who she was asking.

“No,” Miles responded, “Since we have to move her it might only get worse.”

“If we cauterize it we should be able to bandage it until we get there,” Charlie decided, “Unless she gets feverish, hopefully she should be able to walk.”

“I can walk,” Grace spurt out, “I can do it.” She obviously had something to live for.

Rachel's head drifted up and down a few times and it took a Miles a moment to realize that she was nodding.

“Let’s get her back to camp first.”

\--

Aaron went pale white as they brought Grace next to the fire, and he refused to watch the team of three go to work on her. He finally ventured near them when Charlie yelled at him that he was being useless and that he needed to rip up a shirt to make some bandages. When finished, he delivered the strips to Rachel, trying not to remember when it was his shaking hands and her split leg.

Rachel handed them to Miles as Charlie held Grace’s lolling head. There had been no safe way to knock her out, but luckily she had fainted within minutes. Now that they had finished, they simply had to cross their fingers that it would not get infected.

“I’ll watch her, Rachel, Charlie,” Miles offered, “You two go clean up.”

“Grab some bottles too. There’s a stream a little northwest of here,” Rachel added.

All three conscious individuals turned to look at her. They had been taking water when they really needed it from mostly standing pools and boiling it.

“And you know this how?” Miles interrogated.

“Grace told me. It’s what we’ll follow to get to the settlement she knows about.”

Rachel turned to grab her pack and then kept moving into the black of the trees, hearing the crunch of Charlie treading across dry leaves close behind her. Rachel was eager to move away from the light and heat of the fire; unwelcome images of white metal against bare skin flickered through her mind. She wanted to be clean too, for there was already enough metaphorical blood on her hands without the addition of it in reality.

They didn’t get turned around or lost and it was the perfect distance, just in the wrong direction and the stream itself too small to be heard easily.

The women stripped and washed in silence.

“Can I ask you something?”

Charlie’s voice startled her and she turned to see her daughter standing stoic, finished.

“Always.”

“Why didn’t you just leave her, mom?”

Rachel stopped scrubbing; her daughter had seemed so benign.

“She was a friend, Charlie.”

“I’m your daughter.”

Rachel inhaled sharply, but couldn’t find words before Charlie continued.

“That’s what you do, isn’t it? You leave people? Why not Grace?” Charlie refused to raise her voice, just questioning slowly and methodically.

Rachel didn’t make eye contact. She knew exactly who her daughter was asking about, and it wasn’t about Charlie and Danny and Ben.

“Because there was no power to be turned on, Charlie.”

Charlie shoved her, Rachel stumbling back into the stream.

“I’m not heartless, Charlie.” Rachel bit back in her words, but wouldn’t raise a hand to her daughter, not again. “But some things are more important than family and friends.”

Charlie laughed in disbelief.

“I cannot believe you just said that to me.”

The frustration built.

“You-you, who was always about Danny!” Now she was shouting. “Always about revenge! Until god forbid it doesn’t serve your purposes, then all of a sudden it’s some esoteric thing that will save mankind.”

“It was not esoteric, Charlie.” Rachel fought back with calmness. “It could’ve saved humanity from what I did to it.”

“It’s still about you!”

“Yeah, well I ended the world!” Rachel’s rage surged out of nowhere. “Me, Charlie. I caused all of this.”

Charlie stood, breathing in deeply and petulantly.

“Everyone who died, everyone who still dies, dies because of _me,_ ” she growled, “And if I can stop a hundred more Dannys from dying at the hands of a hundred more Monroes—then I would let Nora die a hundred times too.”

Her daughter swallowed and Rachel saw the glisten of water in her eyes.

“But not Grace?” she almost whispered.

“Grace wasn’t in the way.”

“Could you _be_ any colder?” Charlie hissed.

“Charlie—”

Her daughter turned away, turned to leave in silence.

“Charlie—we can’t save everyone.”

 Charlie stopped and swiveled around.

“But the thing is, mom, we can at least _try_ ,” she spit, the venom seeping in, “And by the way, all you managed to do was destroy half the country. If you ever need a reminder that you failed at righting the world, just look down at the new addition to your lovely collection of scars.”

Rachel watched her daughter disappear into the night.

The shock dissolved into creeping helplessness, her breaths growing shallow. Moments later, the inescapable sobs rattled through her exhausted body.


	7. Things You Never Say to Me

They made good progress the next day, following the indicated stream down into a valley. Miles led the way, with Rachel and Charlie supporting Grace behind him. Aaron trailed behind.

“It’s only a little ways further, but I don’t think we can make it there today,” Grace informed them as they reached a rock to rest.

“We’ll get as far as we can,” Miles responded.

Grace stopped them a little ways down river again, winded, pointing out a campsite that would work. Rachel nodded her agreement and Miles saw no reason to argue. By sunset they’d managed to feed themselves and set up camp. Grace lay gently under a blanket and was half-asleep within minutes.

Miles kept watch on the edge of camp, pacing, then sitting, then pacing some more.

“Miles?”

He had been fairly certain that everyone had drifted off, but if anyone was still going to be awake, it would be her. Rachel sat on the ground next to him, arms wrapped around herself, pulling her jacket closer to keep out the cold.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Your”—he didn’t know what to call it—“injury?”

 “Fine. You?”

“What are we going to do with Grace when we get there?”

Rachel just sighed, deep and fraught, and shut her eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“Where are we headed?”

"Where Grace is taking us."

"No. I mean, where are  _we_ headed?"

She shook her head. She didn’t know either, or she simply didn’t want to think about it.

“Miles,” she exhaled, “I can take lookout tonight. Get some rest.”

He nodded.

“You need anything, wake me up, okay?”

He curled under his thin blanket, watching Rachel lean against a boulder and study the shadows. She looked calm, weary but unfazed and he was just glad that she was whole. Her warm body was tangible and safe and only an arm's length or two away. The dark world dissolved into another sea of thoughtless black as he fell asleep, her proximity settling his fluttering heart.

Her spot in the dirt was empty the next morning.

She was gone, along with Grace and a portion of their supplies. He shouted frantically into the woods a few times, her name swallowed easily by the tightly packed forest. He swore, ignored the trepidation in his gut that seemed to have moved in permanently and started packing up everything without second thought. Why did he try so hard when the woman clearly had a death wish, he chided himself.

He ignored Charlie standing frozen, bag in hand.

“They probably just went ahead to the settlement,” he reasoned to anyone who was listening, “Grace still needs help. Probably have a couple hours head start on us. We still don’t know the details of the location—only Rachel does—god dammit, Rachel!” He kicked a rock in frustration and immediately regretted it.

“Miles—” Charlie started.

“We can ask around. If it really has medical aid, someone’s gotta know it.”

“Who we going to ask, Miles?” Aaron asked, “The squirrels?”

“Miles!”

Both stopped and looked at her. Charlie was having a difficult time keeping it together.

“What?” he questioned her sensitively but urgently, “What is it?”

“I think—I think she left because of me.”

Miles didn’t have time to deal with her abandonment issues; they needed to get moving. But this was what being responsible for another life entailed. His hands found her shoulders cautiously.

“Charlie, we’ve been over this, right? Your mother has never left because of you.”

“Miles—shut up.”

Out of shock, he did.

“I said some things to her—mean things, unfair things I shouldn’t have.” Her face scrunched up and Miles mentally calculated the seconds until he’d need to become a human tissue. “And I think they really hurt her.”

“If she was really in pain, she would’ve said—”

“Nothing, bottled it up and done something impulsive instead,” Charlie finished for him, her voice cracking, “My mom’s messed up, Miles.”

Miles’ guilt levels soared. As protective as he felt of Charlie, it was entirely his fault that she and her mother couldn’t connect, that Rachel would never truly be a mother to her. For that, the only place he deserved in their lives was as far out of them as possible.

“Hey, hey,” he comforted her the best he could, “We don’t know why she left. So let’s catch up with her and find out.”

Charlie nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat.

Miles blazed out of camp moments later, followed by the two, one befuddled and one biting back tears. Anxiety and frustration settled in him, that for all the broken pieces he was trying to stitch back together, Rachel knew just how to unravel them. 


	8. I Never Stopped

Rachel paused at the foot of the climb. Steep walls of stone rose up on either side of the stretch of dirt and grass they’d come through and the only way out was up, up a narrow, rocky path. Grace found a boulder and rested her feet and drained body.

“It’s just up this and about a mile further?” Rachel confirmed.

“Yes, and thank you. God, I hope they have painkillers.”

Grace was doing well, even though the arrow had rearranged her shoulder.

“I still don’t think we should have left the others,” she commented.

Rachel shifted her feet. She’d learned to lie to keep Miles at bay, had perfected the art with Monroe, and now did it easily without second thought. For her own part, it was helpful when the truth simply hurt too much to acknowledge.

“I’ll help you, Grace. They won’t. Besides, you weren’t complaining when we left last night.”

“It seems better not to argue with you these days, Rachel.”

Rachel wanted to ask her want she meant, but she already knew. The bright young scientist eager to try anything, the one who pushed against her husband but always gave in, was long gone. 

“We’re moving much slower than them, even though we had a head start. We should keep moving,” Rachel decided.

Right on cue, a tall dark figure appeared in the small valley, back in the direction from which they had come. Miles, and then a long-haired Charlie and bulky Aaron.

“Shit.”

The figure saw them, relaxed visibly, stiffened again, and then shouted.

“What the hell, Rachel?” His voiced echoed off the stone, brutal and thoroughly angry.

Rachel glanced at seated Grace, who gave her an exhausted look communicating that she was responsible for this mess. Rachel turned to face Miles as he scrambled towards them with Charlie and Aaron close behind. He closed in, his fuming face close to her blank one.

“We’re talking alone. Now.”

“Anything you can say you can say right here,” she replied, standing firm and collected with that stillness that he always hated her for.

“Goddamn it, Rachel. _Move._ ”

He pushed her, not cruelly, but enough to get her headed up the incline.

“Stay here, Charlie,” he barked at the others.

Miles exploded as soon as they were out of earshot, alone in another wood.

“What this hell were you thinking, Rachel? You left us alone, unguarded—we could be dead now.” He voice dipped low and gravelly, and he didn’t even try to keep his fists unclenched. “You wandered off alone, in the middle of the night, both of you are injured— _you_ could be dead now.” That honestly scared him. “What the _hell_ were you thinking?”

“I didn’t wander off, Miles. I left. I was taking Grace to get help, and then to Texas and then doing whatever she needed me to do.”

“And us?” he asked, accusing.

Rachel swallowed.

“All of you are better off without me. Always have been.”

“Is this about what Charlie said? Because she’s sorry.”

“She’s right.”

She turned to go, but Miles captured her arm. She shrugged him off coldly.

“You promised never to leave either of us again.”

Rachel laughed, disgusted.

“I didn’t promise you anything, Miles. I don’t owe _you_ anything.”

“Like hell you do!”

He was close, too close but not touching. She placed her hands on his chest and shoved, the rage and desperation boiling through.

“You owe _me_ eight years of my life!”

“And I’ll give them to you!” He repaid her shout, before trying to calm himself. “I swear—you, me, Charlie—together—I’ll  give them to you. I’ll give you more. Charlie will too.”

The initial wave of anger had subsided, but the disagreement persisted.

“Oh, now you speak on behalf of my daughter too?”

“Sometimes—yeah. She’s like a daughter to me, Rachel.”

That broke her. Her fists found him and they stumbled backwards together, a rough tree coming up quickly.

“Don’t say that! Don’t you dare say that!”

The violent response surprised Miles.

“Is she?”

“Yours? Jesus Christ—can you count, Miles? We last—fifteen months before. Were you asleep in sex ed?”

“Probably, yeah.”

He stood, breathless, just looking at her.

“I didn’t know you were counting.” It was spoken softly, the passion fading rapidly.

Rachel glared, the breath in her throat caught between shaky sobs and another response. She had thousands of things to yell at him, biting retorts that would murder him where he stood, things that she had dreamt up during lonely, frustrated nights in her gilded cage. But her tongue couldn’t find any of them and although the argument still crept across her skin, exhaustion seized at her. She was too weary to fight anymore.

She didn’t know what to say, so naturally she forced out the most foolish thing she could.

“I think—I loved you—once.”

“I still love you.”

It was so simple, such a stupid, simple concept after everything they’d done to each other.

Some grand plan had it in for them, because large raindrops started to saturate the dusty earth.

“We need to move Grace and the others to cover,” Rachel reasoned.

He nodded. They would always do this, wouldn’t they? Meet any grand, sweeping, romantic gesture with pure pragmatism.

Their days of idealism were over.


	9. I'll Fix It for Us

They barreled through the downpour towards the complex. As soon as they made it over the ridge and through the small thicket of trees, it was in sight. A large, old fashioned fort nestled in the valley, built with rich, sturdy timber taken from the sloping hills on either side. It would have been a fantastic sight, if the day wasn’t dark and grey and they weren’t on a mission.

A mismatched group of armed civilians met them on the approach to the fort.

“We need medical help,” Charlie shouted to them. She was young and looked innocent, making for the best first contact.

“Where are you coming from?”

“Left central Colorado about two weeks ago.”

“Please, let me speak to them,” Grace mentioned quietly to Rachel.

“Sure.”

“Hello?” Grace stumbled forward, placing one hand up. “I’m Grace. George—George Heather was an old friend. He told me about this place.”

A small woman with long black hair streaked with grey stepped forward.

“Grace? Grace Beaumont?”

“That’s me.”

“George mentioned you to us too. These your friends?”

Grace nodded.

“Do you trust them?”

Grace scanned her soaked group, eyes lingering a moment too long on Rachel.  She turned back.

“Yes.”

“Then come in and get dry. I’m Lena. We can catch up around some warm cider. I want to know how George is doing.”

Grace wasn’t looking forward to telling them that her ‘friends’ had blown him up in the hallway of a top secret DoD structure. She would be twisting the truth soon enough, she had a feeling.

They made it through the gates, Lena passing Grace off to another older woman who led her into one of the log buildings. The rest were stopped and searched for weapons.

“Just some precautions, you have to understand,” Lena explained to them.

A few went to work on the four, confiscating swords and arrows and knives and Miles’ gun that Rachel had claimed as hers. Lena unbuckled Miles’ sword, patting him down to look for anything else.

“Hey, watch it!” he cried, as she tapped his bandage. Rachel’s blonde head snapped to them.

“Sorry,” the woman said earnestly, “What happened?”

“We trespassed a bit and someone decided to use us as their own personal canvas.”

“Alchemic symbols?”

“What?”

“Did they mark you with a symbol?”

Miles knotted his brow.

“Yes, why?”

“You ran into the Mackintoshs.” She smiled sympathetically at him. “The enemy of your enemy is your friend, I guess. We’re not too fond of branding as punishment here.”

She led them past a long row of connected buildings, subdivided into small homes. People were inside due to the rain, but they could see curious faces pressed against windows.

“We’re a little short on housing at the moment. If you want to and we decide to let you stay for longer, we’ll find you something else. But for now, assuming you’re not offended, only the jail has some rooms open.” She laughed lightly. Miles liked her; she was cautious but calm and welcoming. “Don’t read into it; it’s just one of the few livable spaces we have right now. We trust Grace, we trust you too and there’ll be a guard, but you’ll obviously be free to come and go.”

Unlike the other buildings, the jail house was made of stone. Inside was cool but dry and three cells with a cot each stood ajar, heavy wooden doors creaking slightly on their hinges.

“Dry off,” she said, “Change if you have anything, relax. When you’re ready, Mike here”—she gestured to the young man who had been accompanied them from the gate—“can take you to the Hall to get some food or to Arleta’s place to check on Grace. Just don’t wander off by yourself.”

Miles watched her walk away, avoiding puddles and mud gracefully as she went. Rachel turned to say something to him but stopped; Mike was leaning in the doorway within earshot. She flashed him a brief smile and he smiled eagerly back. He was tall with pleasant features and the gawkiness that came from someone not having enough years with their long limbs. He kept smiling at her even as she pressed a hand against Miles and they moved together towards the first cell.

“Charlie, go change. Aaron, you too.” Miles nodded at the two other doors, as he and Rachel steered into the doorway together.

“Miles, can I talk to my mom?” Charlie stopped them.

Rachel hesitated, and then nodded, lifting her warm hand off of Miles’ sleeve. He groped towards her arm, but she moved away.

“Later,” she placated.

Mother and daughter disappeared into the cell together, shutting the door, so that they could strip and dry their soaked clothes.

Miles noticed that Aaron hadn’t moved.

“What are you staring at?” he dared.

The damp man smirked.

“You’re still a teenage boy.”

“Yeah, well—so are you.” Sometimes Miles was still a seven year-old boy.

Aaron just shook his head, heading into the third cell.

“You really don’t deserve to get laid tonight,” he finished as he shut the door.

Maybe Aaron _could_ read her better than him. Miles had been expecting a thorough verbal beat down, not a passionate afternoon between two lovers, but then again Rachel would be the unpredictable type to make out with him when he expected a punch.

\--

Charlie watched her mother, her ferocious, ruthless mother, turn a deep radish red.

“You didn’t need to hear that, Charlie.”

“Mom, I know about sex.”

Rachel turned her head up to meet her daughter’s eyes. The young girl sat curled on the cot, next to their shed and drying shirts and pants. Rachel felt vulnerable, but Charlie seemed even more so. The words were right there, ready to grace the air between them, so plain and neat and predictable. But terror held her back, the arresting fear of the unknown, that what was said after such words could determine their future together. Rachel braced herself against the cold wall and took the leap.

“I’m sorry, Charlie.”

For Nora, Dad, her brother, the world. For leaving. Rachel hoped that her daughter could intuit everything as she chewed her lip. Charlie was silent, lowering herself gently to her mother’s level.

She reached out to embrace her. Rachel’s hands found the girl’s hair, stroking it softly as her daughter held on tightly.

“Charlie,” she muttered, “Charlie, we can’t just be okay.”

“Yeah. But maybe we’re tough and we’ll try anyway.”

“Charlie—” Her daughter’s name was an anchor. Charlie, Charlie, Charlie—Rachel felt like it was the only thing she had been able to give to her, the only motherly role she had ever fulfilled.

“Charlie—do you still hate tomatoes?”

“What?”

She pulled back, her face scrunching in confusion.

“You wouldn’t even touch them when you were little. I hardly know anything about you now. And I guess—small steps, right?”

Charlie shrugged.

“I guess so. I can’t really afford to be picky about food. I don’t really know.”

Rachel looked disappointed.

“Oh.”

“I do love raspberries,” Charlie offered, “We had raspberry bushes circling the house back home and in the summer Danny and I would be in charge of picking them. Dad had to hide the containers because I would eat them all in one sitting.”

“Your great-grandmother like raspberries. A lot. I remember helping her in the afternoon when I was in college and she’d make me freeze them until my fingers were about to fall off.”

“Which grandmother?”

“Dad’s grandmother.”

“The one with the terriers, right?”

Rachel laughed and felt an enormous weight lift.

“You hated dogs because of them. We were over with Dad and Miles once, right before she passed, and you clung to his leg—”

“Which one?”

“Which one what?”

“Dad or Miles?”

Rachel hesitated. She had a gnawing idea of what her daughter was really asking.

“Dad, Charlie,” she said slowly. Then an addendum: “Dad was, well, Dad.” There was so much more that itched to be said about Ben Matheson, loving father and family man, but Rachel couldn’t desecrate his memory, not to Charlie, not when he was safely martyred in the ground. “Miles was—”

A mistake, an adventure, a sarcastic bastard, her brother-in-law, but before that a friend who’d crossed the line that they both enjoyed crossing but never should have. He was charming and a bit slow and had few reservations about being an adulterer, not when he could claim that the moments he spent curled around Rachel were his happiest. He was fun, back when she was sweet, not innocent but inexperienced.

“Miles gave away his heart like it was candy. A poor idiot with too many quips and smiles and not enough protection.”

Charlie cocked her head.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You pity him,” she announced.

“And love him and hate him.”

Charlie wavered a bit, trying to process everything that their messed up lives had turned out to be. She’d seen too much and lost too many to push away the few people she had left, as stark mad and inconsistent as they were.

Rachel leaned forward, gingerly reached a hand out, and connected with her daughter’s face, tucking a stray clump of wet hair behind her ear.

“I need you to know that whatever I do, I’ll never love anyone as much as I love you.”

In that moment, it was true enough. 


	10. Oh, Tear Ducts and Rust

Mike led them to the Hall at dinner.

“We’re small enough here that we all eat meals together. More efficient if we specialize and then share, instead of each family trying to fend for themselves.”

Miles nodded wearily in understanding.

Rachel and Charlie had walked behind him on the way from the jail; they had sounded close, their footsteps in the mud almost on top of each other. He was too afraid to turn and glance at them, unsure if he was included in whatever moment they were having or not.  He may have built the most feared regime to occupy the continent in last decade, but facing an entire army at this point seemed more favorable than treading on the toes of those two.

The Hall was a cavernous A-frame building, noisy and bright with people taking cozy shelter from the storm.

“Grace!”

Rachel had seen the woman sitting in the corner. She looked refreshed and her arm was packaged in a cleaner and sturdier looking sling. Mike helped them situate themselves at the table, and they dug into the dishes with thanks.

“Did they help you?” Rachel wasn’t even pretending to pick at her food, her eyes locked on Grace and curious.

“Yes.”

“Could you be a little more cryptic?” Miles was across from her.

“You guys did a good a job patching me up. I’ll recover just fine.”

“Are you still going to head to Texas?” It was Charlie this time.

Grace didn’t respond.

“I think we all should go to Texas,” Rachel offered.

“What’s in Texas for you?” Grace asked.

“What’s there for you?” she countered.

Grace was silent again.

Miles knew exactly what was there for Rachel, but that still didn’t mean that he wanted to drag everyone hundreds of more miles. Besides, if what Rachel hoped to find wasn’t there anymore, the fallout was not another tragedy that they needed.

“You know these people, Grace?” he verified.

“I know of them and they of me,” she replied curtly, “But Lena trusts us.”

“And?” Charlie wanted to know where Grace was going.

“She has a lot of sway. I think we could exchange labor here for supplies for the road.”

“And then head to Texas,” Rachel guessed.

“We have two reasons to go there now.”

Aaron paused mid-bite. “Are you ever going to tell us your reason?”

“Eventually.”

Charlie spoke up after a pause. “We’ll give you some time. But we’ll need to know everything before long.” She couldn’t keep her steady blue eyes from passing over her mother.

“Are we going to Texas then?” Rachel asked quietly.

Miles nodded slowly and listened as Rachel exhaled a quick breath of relief.

“We’ll find them, Rachel.”

She froze. It was Grace who had assured her. The two women remained stoic, staring across the table as the rest of the room clambered noisily around them.

“There was a lot of reading material in the Tower, Rachel," Grace explained after a moment, "I know who’s there and what they mean to you.”

Miles wondered if he should say anything, but as he watched Rachel’s eyes glaze over, he crossed his fingers that there would be another, better time.

The rest of the meal was consumed through periods of awkward quiet and small talk. Both Lena and Mike joined them before long. Mike scooted close to Rachel as she blankly pushed soupy gravy and meat around her plate, until Charlie purposefully spilled her beer and he rushed to help clean it up; she planted herself firmly next to her mother as a barricade after that. Miles and Grace discussed details of their stay with Lena, bowed heads perking up at sound of the mug clattering down and off the table.

“Do you guys want to play a game?” Lena asked, after the group seemed finished, both with dinner and affairs.

“What?” Charlie was confused.

“We let ourselves relax a bit in the evenings, and people tend to come in here and play checkers, chess, backgammon, cards. We have one salvaged game of Trivial Pursuit, which used to be really popular, but the people left who know the references are getting fewer.” That fact seemed to sadden her.

“Sure, I’ll play,” Charlie agreed, a little eagerly. She had grown up quickly, but sometimes Miles forgot her youth.

Aaron nodded, as did Grace, but Rachel’s hand closed around Miles’ wrist.

“Go back with me?” she asked.

“Of course.”

They parted from the others, Miles ignoring the questioning stare from Grace and smirk from Aaron. He swore he saw Charlie roll her eyes, but it might have only been the shadows in the warm light; she was already shuffling a deck of cards.

Lena stopped Mike from leading them back, letting the two venture back to their unusual quarters on their own.

Miles shut the heavy door for privacy, as Rachel lowered herself to the bed and pulled her legs up, sitting cross-legged. He joined her.

“Everything seems to think you’re after a booty call.”

“So I noticed.”

“Of course, I could go back and give you and Mr. Escort the room together, if you prefer.”

“Mike? No, I stick strictly to men who have headed authoritarian regimes.”

Maybe it was a little bit of the homemade beer taking effect, but Miles laughed at that.  It took a moment for him to realize that Rachel hadn’t found her joke as funny as she wanted.

“I need to be able to trust you, Miles,” she said solemnly, “I need to know that _he_ is gone.”

“You haven’t been working hard to earn _our_ trust.”

She lifted her chin towards him, defiant and guilty.

“I mean, General Matheson, Miles. I walked into your camp and you wrapped your fingers around my throat and slammed me against a wagon. You never hit me, but you threatened to and ordered your soldiers to. And then you gave me over to Bass—”

He saw a flash of the memory that had stopped her, but Miles needed her to continue, wanted to finally know how far his friend had gone, if he was worse or if they’d fallen too far together.

“He tried everything that you were too afraid to. His hands were on my neck too and sometimes—I need to be able to separate—”

She sat unmoving, staring at her fidgeting hands as thick tears pushed down her face. Miles forced himself not to reach out.

“Rachel, I’ll never touch you again, in any way, if that’s what you want.”

“No!” Suddenly he was suffocated by a damp sweater and a soaked check pressed against his ear and he realized how much he missed the sensation of her solid mass against his. “I just—I came—I left my family because I wanted you to—to—”

“What?”

He tried to understand her through the sobs.

“Ben—he didn’t feel—he couldn’t understand. I didn’t deserve—I needed—I turned myself in so that you would hurt me.”

“Rachel, that’s messed up.”

“I can’t bring myself to do the math, to figure out exactly how many—we played with fire and burnt the world and I thought I needed to pay.”

“That still doesn’t excuse what I did to you.”

She nodded passionately.

“I figured that one out after I realized I’d probably never see Charlie and Danny again. But—Miles I—you can’t be part—”

She stopped and Miles almost tensed in anticipation; he was never sure what was coming next with Rachel. He felt her hair trail against his hand and, then her mouth was on his. The kiss was steady but wet, and the cool air returned to his cracked lips too soon.

Her voice cracked. “I trust you, Miles.” She leaned her head against his. “But if you hurt me, you will regret it.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he answered, “We’ve hurt each other enough for one lifetime.”

She climbed into his lap and deepened the kiss, while he let his hands roam, amazed how quickly they had turned from guilty to horny. Her in his arms stirred so deep and old a memory in him that it was almost novel. Miles tired of the rough shirt fabric quickly and wanted her bare back with all its blemishes. He felt her shudder against him, and then again, and then realized that she was shivering.

“Rachel—”

“I—uh—it’s a little drafty in here.”

“And your clothes aren’t really dry yet.”

“I think I can solve that one.”

She stripped, forcing Miles to stay seated while she laid her shirt and pants out to dry. She was radiant, he thought, as she crawled back on top of him, skin bared and drying hair curly from the rain. Her bandage, however, was still one of many marks marring the pale expanse.

“Rache, their doctor should look at that.”

“We’ll ask them to look at yours.” She shook her head. “Not mine.”

“We should keep it clean and if they have any antiseptic—”

“I said no, Miles.”

He nodded.

“I don’t need a stranger’s hands on me.”

Miles understood.

He felt the spot where her hand had rested against his arm grow cool, and he watched her arm snake backward to unclasp her bra.

“Rachel, if you don’t want to do anything tonight—”

“Shut up, and warm me up, Miles.”

She had him flat on his back within seconds.

\--

Rachel felt safer than she had in a long time, tense muscles she could not remember ever being untense relaxed, and contentment pooled in her aching body. The rain had started up again and each thick raindrop pounded the roof, welcome percussion as she rocked against him.

They had explored each other leisurely and with care, without the urgency that pursued them everywhere else. Miles would trace the tight muscles across her shoulders, drawing circles and hidden messages, relishing shifting the mass of blonde hair back and forth. She’d savor his chest and stomach, pressing hot lips against the sensitive skin and lingering on nipples and scars, her tongue tantalizing and gentle.

Finally he’d pulled her against him, hand buried in the curly mess and arm circling her waist. He’d pulled her against him and them both against the wall. Rachel found his lap again, and there she was now, the after waves of pleasure burning low as Miles raced after his breath.

“I think I beat you,” she smirked, the large brown eyes of a happy puppy staring back at her, only inches from her nose.

Miles laughed and Rachel could feel it tickle in her too. She could still be the proud, competitive scientist he had fallen in love with. 

“It’s not a race, Rache.”

“Everything is, Miles.”

Her tone had dropped, had altered inadvertently. Did he see? Sometimes she wondered if Miles ever saw, saw that sometimes she raced against her enemies, but sometimes the only enemy to outrun was herself. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him.

“Miles.” Her chin rested on his shoulder and she could feel the heat radiating off his sticky skin. “Please don’t leave me.”

She felt his hand clench tighter around her waist and she leaned her full weight on him. His answer vibrated in his throat, his skin rough against hers.

“I won’t, Rachel, but you need to try to hang onto what’s left.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and her hand raked itself through his hair, buried itself in it, and clung on relentlessly.

“You don’t have to tell any of us what you’ve been through, least of all me.” The swallow was near her ear. “But let us in. Especially before you run off on a suicide mission.”

His heartbeat pounded through her.

“I meant to die in that Tower, Miles.”

His stillness scared her.

“When does it end?” she breathed to his shoulder and inhaled the smell of the road—sweat and alcohol and a hint of the cool rain from the heavens opening on them. “When do we win the race?”

He pulled his hand up to cradle the base of her neck, the filthy silk sheet of hair twisting in his fingers. He turned her head and caught her lips between his. She stiffened, pressing back aggressively.

Rachel felt the warm contact melt away, but the moisture stayed close.

 “We don’t,” he stated under his breath, to hers.

She found pathetic laughter trickling off her tongue, love choked in the pauses between. They stayed quiet, the mountain rain whispering and chattering against the tin roof.

Locked in his arms, bright eyes smiling through tear-stained faces, she grasped at something a little sweeter.

At least in silence there was hope, she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo...finishing this in one big go. I guess I could have split it into two chapters but 11 is an awkward number to end on. I would not be opposed to making addendums to this plot line if anyone was interested—like explaining what Grace was up to, or watching them continue onto to Texas (I already starting pulling some of the pieces we've got about Texas for season 2 into this). This just felt like a natural place to stop and I need to set goals for myself or I’ll never finish multi-chapter fics. Thanks to everyone who has been following the story and left comments or kudos; I really appreciate it :)

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I know, I wimped out explaining how they got away. I was just rather eager to get to the bulk of the material. Also, (in true Mythbuster's fashion, thank you Aaron), I reject your reality, Kripke, and substitute my own—the power’s still off. So basically the nukes landed, they then turned off the power and somehow escaped. (Don’t look at me, it’s not like that finale scene was my stupid decision.) Really my plot in this story is just a device to isolate Rachel and Miles following the events of the finale so that they would before forced to confront stuff (because those two would avoid it until doomsday if they could)…so whatever your head canon/fall return predictions are should fit the bill.


End file.
